Last Man Standing
by M. the Inspector
Summary: Beth is at that age where a drink is maybe not all she wants. Unfortunately, right now there aren't exactly plenty of fish in the sea... (We're looking at mostly UST here I think; I don't expect to get anywhere explicit. Sorry!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've never shipped Daryl & Beth (hell I've never shipped Daryl with _anyone), _but 4.12 put this in my head. So, here it is.**

**Also: I have no clue how old Beth is or how innocent; I didn't pay much attention to her in the earlier seasons. So, if I've got any canon violations here on that score, sorry.**

* * *

Beth was nursing a glass of whiskey, a lot slower than she'd taken the moonshine. She made faces as she sipped.

"Has this… gone bad or somethin?" she complained at last. "It can't be _supposed_ to taste like this."

Daryl had been planning to sit this round out, but whatever. "Gimme that." He took her glass and swigged a big gulp, without flinching, then shrugged. "S'okay."

She giggled. (She'd already gotten a bit into her.). "I should do it like that? Chug it down half a glass at a time?"

"Naw. Not if you don't wanna choke on it. Drink it slow and chase it with water. You'll get used to it."

"Yes Mr. Dixon." Her sass was cute. After she realized he'd taken it easy on her the other day she'd been _raging, _and that was cute too, stomping around and demanding to be taught to _really _drink. He'd tried at first to say no... but entertainment was hard to come by these days. So, here they were. New camp, new liquor. They'd burned all the hooch from the cabin, but it hadn't taken long to find some more when they put their minds to it.

He watched her take a tiny sip and then look to him. He nodded.

Beth perked up – the way she always did when you taught her something and she got it right. She learned most things pretty quick. He should really pass on something more useful than how to drink and swear.

She smiled at him, looking sort of wistful and hazy. Drinking did that to her. "I've never been to a bar before," she said.

He snorted. "Missed your chance on that one."

"Never been to _anywhere _nasty, really."

"I have. You ain't missed much."

"I've never really gotten into trouble at all. Not with the police, or my parents, or anybody."

Suddenly he was much less entertained. Not _this_ again. He didn't answer... and then she looked down into her glass and said: "I've never even _done _anything. With a guy."

_What? _A surge of adrenaline, or anger, or _something_ (panic?) sprung him to his feet. "The hell you just say?!"

"N-nothin. I didn't mean-." Her eyes were huge. "Sorry, okay, I'm sorry. Don't be mad, Daryl, I didn't mean-. I'm sorry. I swear. I'll shut up now."

He didn't like her stammering around looking for something to calm him with. He'd heard more than enough of that from himself once upon a time, and the tone still made him wince.

(He knew he had only himself to blame. He'd lost his temper the other day and been a real asshole. No wonder she was nervous.)

"Hey. It's okay," he said. Best attempt at sounding gentle. He knew it wasn't that great but hopefully she'd get the point. This was important, much more important than telling her off for the sex thing. "Relax. I ain't-..." _Going to hurt you?_ That sounded so... He couldn't say it. "I ain't drunk tonight," he improvised instead.

She tried a tiny smile. "And you're only a jerk when you're drunk, huh?"

He nodded.

She relaxed all the way and sipped at her drink again. "You're not that bad, Daryl. Even when you're drinkin."

"You don't know," he said. But he wasn't some teenage drama queen pretending to be more fucked-up than he was, so he added: "But I ain't my dad or my brother, and no matter how pissed or how drunk I get I'm not gonna hurt you." He frowned. "If I ever do, you run, you hear? No second chances. You run – or you pick up the crossbow and put me down."

He wasn't kidding. So far he'd never beat on a kid, ever, but he _wasn't _going to turn into somebody who did.

Her eyes were big and sort of hurt-looking. "That won't happen," she whispered. "I trust you."

"Don't be an idiot."

Out of nowhere she laughed. "And, I don't know how to use the crossbow anyways."

He made himself relax. Sat back down and took another sip from her drink. "I'll teach you sometime. When we're cold sober."

* * *

Beth woke up a little later than usual, and feeling a little fuzzy and worn-out. But she didn't think she was _hung over_, exactly; she'd heard it was a lot worse than this. When she said so to Daryl he laughed at her and told her a couple of stories.

It seemed like a good time to try again. The sex thing. She _refused _to feel ashamed about it; it was _normal_ to have urges, and considering there was nobody else even around she didn't blame herself for urging after Daryl. Anyway he really wasn't such a bad choice - his looks were okay, he had a good heart, and when you saw him stick up for Merle of all people you knew that he was loyal to his core.

She'd never tried seducing before and would probably suck at it, so that was out. Instead, since she'd grown up taught that honesty is the best policy and that there's no surer way to compound a sin than lie about it, as they broke camp that morning she just said: "Don't get mad again, okay? But. Last night I said I've never _done _anything... sexual."

He ignored her, and just kept putting the fire out.

"But in case that wasn't clear enough for you: I want to."

He started kicking dirt over the fire with a little more force.

"And in case _that _still wasn't clear enough: I want to with _you_."

She wasn't sure how to be any more direct than that. But he still ignored her… and suddenly she was furious. Normal men said yes right away when you offered sex to them!

"Is there somethin wrong with your hearing, Daryl Dixon?"

He stopped attacking the firepit, but he still wouldn't look at her. He shook his head.

"Then is there somethin wrong with _me_? Because you're obviously saying no to me, and I don't know why."

He sniffed and spat onto the ground. "I don't fuck kids, is why."

Her first instinct was to snap _I'm not a kid_, but now she was feeling a little overwhelmed. Even scared. Very much like a kid, actually, and very in over her head. "I- I didn't say I wanted to _fuck_," she backtracked. The idea was making her heart hammer and not in a good way. "I just said I-... I've never done anything. Not _anything._ I just wanted to do a _little._"

He didn't answer – but he was tense now. She thought maybe she was getting somewhere. "My friends used to play a game," she began, timid. He huffed and shook his head.

It seemed like he was just laughing at her, though – he didn't sound mad. She took heart, a little. "You roll dice, different colors," she began. "Everybody's got a number. The white die says who you're goin into the closet with, the red one says for how many minutes. I think the rule was only above the waist. Um. I don't know for sure, though – I never played."

Finally he turned and peeked at her from under his bangs. "I've been too old to do shit like that since before you was born."

She sincerely doubted that. "Fine," she said, and stood up. Maybe her intent was obvious, because he started backing away immediately. She followed him, chased him really, until he fetched up hard against a tree. "Then what _aren't _you too old for?" And she put a hand on his crotch.

"Jesus – knock it off!" He shoved her and tried to get around her, she tried to block him, and they scuffled.

"Come _on_," she was whining. Giggling, because annoyed or not he didn't feel _dangerous _today. He was swatting her hands away without force, and holding her wrists loosely enough to pull free of. "_Daryl. _If I'm old enough to drink I'm old enough to mess around, you know it's true-"

And then they heard birds. Noisy, a bunch of them all taking off at once.

Instantly Daryl swung her around, _slammed_ her hard against the tree, one hand over her mouth and his whole body pressed up against hers. "Shh," he breathed into her face.

He turned to look over his shoulder, where the birds had come from – without moving off her.

He was only sheltering her, she realized that. But still. He was flush against her and it felt _good_. It felt like what she'd been craving for.

They stood without moving for a long few minutes. He was keeping his breaths quiet, but she could feel from his chest that he was breathing hard. Was he scared?

"Guess it's nothin," he whispered, eventually. "Guess it was just us scared em – not a walker."

He turned to her again and his face was _so close... _but there was nothing she could do about it because he was holding her still. When he finally took his hand off her mouth, he was already moving away, already out of kissing distance. "Daryl..."

"I said no," he said. Firm now - no more mumbling. "No more of that shit, you hear me?" His mouth twitched. "_No means no, _ain't that the rule now?"

She sincerely hoped that that had _always _been the rule, although from the boy-warnings people had always given her she supposed maybe it hadn't been. She crossed her arms. "I don't want to die without _ever _doing _anything_."

He shrugged. "Then we'll just have to make sure you don't die for a while, won't we."

She scowled. Admitted defeat – for the moment.

* * *

**TBC.**

**I'm thinking probably 1 or 2 more parts. Let me know what you think so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the comments, everybody! Glad you like it. Here's more :o)**

**(I think this is still a T rating, but there is some slight sexual content this time. So, be warned.)**

* * *

Three days later she brought it up again. "I could have died today," she said across the fire.

He poked at the squirrel he was cooking. "Didn't though."

"No thanks to _you_."

She meant it to goad him and it worked; he looked up from under his bangs (bangs? They were almost as long as all the rest of his hair now; he really needed a haircut or soon he wouldn't even be able to see) and glared at her. "I was coverin you. You had it."

"It only takes a second. One bite." She fussed with her boots. "You know, we should make some kind of wrist wraps, for when we stab them up close. Glenn used to wear armor sometimes."

He swallowed – mention of the others always seemed to kind of upset him. He was getting better about not being quite so damn _silent,_ though: he finished arranging the squirrel and sat back against a tree, and then said: "Yeah."

She thought around for something subtle and couldn't come up with anything, so after a bit she just said: "It's not good for people to _never_ have sex. It makes them crazy when the tension just builds up. Doesn't it?" No answer, so she gave a little attitude. "I mean I'm sure you'd know better than me. Been doin it since _before I was born _and all."

Daryl looked up at her again – for a long time. He blinked. "Are you askin for the sex talk from me?" he said finally. Disbelieving. "Hell no: I ain't givin you the sex talk. I ain't your daddy or your teacher."

"Believe me, I _know,_" she said, but he went right on over her.

"If you got problems with your _tension_ you take care of it yourself – don't come talk to me about it. You don't see me tellin you when _I _do it, do you?"

By far this was the furthest she'd ever gotten. She bit her lip. "_You_ do it?"

"Christ Jesus." He folded his arms around his knees and bowed his head. (And now she couldn't see his face at all. He really did need a haircut.)

"Listen, I _can't_ do it. I don't know how."

"Christ," he said again. "Shut your mouth."

"Daryl," she whined. "Come on. Show me?" She knew _about _doing it yourself, of course, and she'd woken up a few times to find her thighs doing _something_ around her hand or a pillow or something, but...

"I said," he said, enunciating it slowly, "I am not. Going. To give you. The sex talk."

Now she was getting mad again. "Well in case you haven't noticed," she said, with a big sweeping gesture he probably didn't see, "There's no one else here to do it." She made a face. "And what if there was, anyway? What, we find some man we've never met, probably someone, um, _old _and, and _disgusting!_" He was running hands through his hair now – definitely agitated. Great. She kept on. "With bad breath, no teeth, creepy eyes..."

"Shut up," he was muttering, but he wasn't taking actual steps to stop her, so she didn't.

"What then? Would you tell me I should go and _fuck_ him? Well, would you? _Would _you?" No answer. She pushed. "I asked you a question and I'm waitin. I _said_: would you?"

She finally got an angry little head-jerk no.

"Then, what – we have to wait til I find somebody that you _approve of_? Is that it, Mr. Dixon? Are you trying to be my daddy after all?"

"Jesus, girl," he muttered. Low and rebellious.

She knew she had him now. Daryl took a while to warm up to people, but she was _in _and he wouldn't sit by while she did something nasty with a nasty stranger.

"I'm _going _to mess with boys," she declared. "This is your chance to have it be you. Otherwise, the next man I find, I'm going to walk up to him and tell him that I want to have sex and how much do you want to bet he's going to take me up on it?" She was breathing hard now. Mad as hell. "I swear I will."

"The _hell_ you will." He finally looked up at her. Sat up straight. "Get over here."

His voice was quiet and the light wasn't good enough to see his face clearly by, and suddenly her heart was in her throat. Was he... mad? (Of course he was, but... how mad?). Was he going to _do _something to her? He'd promised he wouldn't hurt her, but what about whupping a naughty kid – would he think that was different?

Still, she was standing up. If she backed down now or showed she was scared, she could forget Daryl ever thinking of her as _old enough. _She walked over to him as steady as she could, and waited.

"Are you tellin me you don't know how to get yourself off?" he said to the ground.

"Not really. I mean yes," she clarified, "Yes, I'm tellin you I don't really know." Lord, she couldn't string her words together, let alone her thoughts. He was going to. Wasn't he?

He shook his head. "I knew you was young and innocent, but that's..." He took in a long slow breath. The suspense was _killing _her.

Finally, an eternity later, he went on. Slow and quiet. "I ain't takin my clothes off and neither are you. I'll help you once, and then you're on your own. Kay?"

She could hardly believe it. "Okay," she whispered. "What do I do?"

"Siddown." He was mumbling almost too quiet to hear. She knelt opposite him and watched as he moved his legs apart, spread wide, leaning back against the tree with his knees drawn up. "Turn around."

"O...kay..." She'd sort of thought you were supposed to face your partner for sex, but she figured he would know better, so she did it.

Then, rough and sudden, Daryl wrapped arms around her from behind. "Cmere." He dragged her back to sit against his chest, kicked her feet wide, and hooked her legs open with his.

"Oh-" But before she could say anything, he reached around and put a hand over her mouth.

"Quiet." His free hand closed hard around her wrist, and he pulled it down and pushed it between her legs. "Aright?"

She nodded against his hand. His body against her back, his arm around her, and _especially _his hand over her mouth...

It was _good._ She wanted to put her tongue out and touch him, but she had a feeling he wouldn't appreciate it. Probably she should just hold still and do as she was told.

"Aright." He sounded a little calmer, and shifted so that they fit more comfortably together. She wriggled against him to help, and he sucked his breath in. "Like this." He flattened her palm against the crotch of her jeans and put his own hand over it. She held her breath and waited to see what he would do.

At first it wasn't much – he just moved her hand side to side-... well, no, the motion was really more of a circle. But it didn't seem to be _doing _anything, and after a minute he hissed and swatted her hand out of the way. "Hold up." He pressed on her himself, just his fingertips now, pressing hard, moving methodically over her crotch until-

"_Mmn!_" She squeaked and struggled – that poke _hurt._

"Kay. Sorry bout that." He retrieved her hand and put it back, in slightly a different place from before. Started rubbing with it again. "There?"

It felt good now. She snuggled back into his arms and spread her legs a little more to show _yes_, since his hand over her mouth prevented her from saying it out loud.

Daryl took up the slack with his feet, pulling the straddle even tighter. She heard herself make an _mmph _noise but of course that wasn't very clear, so she nodded _yes_ again.

Every now and again he moved her hand differently, a slow rub up and down along her seam, and it made her wriggle with impatience. When he returned her to the original spot again she moaned.

After a particularly loud one he choked up the grip on her face and breathed _shh._

_Okay,_ she would have said, but couldn't. So she took her free hand and gave his leg a little squeeze.

It was good for a while – great. But then, little by little, the rub went from feeling perfect to feeling... teasing. Like it was no longer enough. Eventually it was making her _crazy_. She struggled to press with her hips, which wasn't really working, until she realized that it was actually _her _hand he was using and if she wanted to she could-

Speed. Up.

Yes, that was it. That was doing – _something._ Daryl gasped behind her and swore against her neck, and moved _his _hand faster too. She could hear herself wheezing, feel herself nodding wildly. _Yes, yes, more, come on._ Suddenly he slowed down but pressed harder – much harder.

_That._

Something _dissolved_ inside her, all the tension just suddenly releasing, and she didn't want it to stop _ever_ but she could already tell that the feeling wouldn't last. "_Shit_!" she squeaked against his hand, which had slackened enough that they could both hear her. She went to squeeze her legs together and Daryl let her, moving his feet out of the way, not complaining when she clamped down around his fingers. She held tight with her legs and rolled her hips, milking the moment for all she could, but much too soon the delicious waves tapered off and she knew she was done. "_Shit_," she said again, still high and gaspy, into his shoulder. He let go of her face and let her twist around to lean against him. "Wow."

Daryl had one arm around her now, and eventually he tugged a little with his other. "Gonna need that back sometime," he said. His voice was deep – rumblier than usual – but she thought he sounded amused.

"Sorry," she said. She was still breathing hard, but as quietly as she could. She untwisted her legs to let him free himself – and shook out her own cramped fingers. "Ow."

He laughed a little. "Y'okay?"

"Mm. Worth it." She turned more, to snuggle against his chest.

He heaved a sigh and moved to let her snuggle better. "But this is it," he warned. "Just this once. From now on you're doin it by yourself – and not talkin to me about it. Clear?"

"Clear," she sulked. Doing it on her own was not really what she wanted.

"And no more talk about fuckin strange men, either."

"Yes, Mr. Dixon."

He tapped her upside the head, but didn't make her get up. (In fact, when he settled his arm around her again it felt suspiciously like a hug.) At first she was just enjoying the cozy feeling, but after a while she started wondering what he was thinking about. But she knew not to ask. Especially when he tilted his head back to bump against the tree behind him and just said, all weak and exhausted: "Shit."

* * *

**TBC.**

**Probably one more part. Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

He woke up with a gasp and a raging hard-on. Hell of a dream: his hands tangled hard in her hair, holding her still as he stood over her fucking her throat. He could _just _see her eyes, looking up at him, wide and-

_Beth._ Jesus fuck, he'd just had a sex dream about Beth_._ A nasty one. (A good one.) Fuck, shit, fuck.

He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. He checked quick, but she was still sleeping. Thank God for that at least. If he'd been saying her _name_ or something…

Hard-on wasn't going away; he needed to take care of it. Certainly not going to do it _here _though_, _and certainly not thinking about _her_. He listened for a minute, made sure the night was quiet and there wasn't any movement in hearing distance ("Sorry I let them walk up and _eat _you, but I was too busy off jerking it.") and then slipped into the trees a ways.

He started off thinking of old girlfriends and old porn stars.

As soon as he was done he tried to forget what he'd finished to.

* * *

They'd been blessed with good weather for a while, but then came rain. It was chilly and miserable, wet even under their ratty tarps, and Beth knew the only sensible thing to do was huddle together to keep warm.

But Daryl kicked up a huge and inexplicable fuss about sleeping close. They argued for a while. He won, and they spent half the night freezing separately. Eventually, though, the chill overcame his stubbornness: when she crept over and curled around him from behind he didn't chase her away. (Though he _did _mutter and complain.).

It was a miserable night. In the morning he got up, fluffed water out of his hair, and declared that they were going to find better shelter.

Beth forgot right away about being tired and crabby – better shelter was what she'd been longing for since they left the prison. She was sick to death of the woods; unlike Daryl, she didn't consider eating snakes and sleeping under a makeshift tent to be an acceptable lifestyle over the long term.

He took them to a real neighborhood, with real houses. He picked a modest-looking one in the middle of the block, one that looked like it hadn't been disturbed recently. "No car in the driveway," Beth pointed out. "Maybe they left. We won't be stumblin in on a family of walkers at least."

"_We _won't be stumblin in on anything," Daryl said. "I'll clear the place. You come as far as the doorway, and keep watch."

She gave him a look. "I know how to clear a house, Daryl. Quit worrying."

He said all right, but she noticed that he never let them get more than a room apart, even when it became apparent that there was nothing dangerous in the house at all.

"Clear," she called from the bathroom upstairs – the last room.

"Okay." Daryl, in the hallway, still wasn't really relaxing. He lowered the crossbow but he didn't put it down.

"You really don't like the houses, do you."

He shrugged. "Woods're safer. Easier to hear stuff comin – and definitely easier to run. You can get trapped in a house. The harder we bar the doors, the more trapped we are."

She led the way downstairs – comfortable. "Well, _I _vote we trap ourselves good, and see if the fireplace works. We can heat water and have an actual _bath._"

After the rain there was water everywhere. Daryl grumbled about risking their lives for a bath, but he cooperated, and they collected enough to clean themselves and their clothes.

He let her go first, after hauling two big pots of hot water up the stairs for her. It wasn't exactly a _bath,_ but it was at least sitting in a nice clean tub scrubbing with actual soap and rinsing with actual warm water. She even got to soak the dirt and blood out of her hair.

She was almost resigned to being finished, when she heard boots on the stairs. "Me," Daryl called. "Made you a little more." He stopped outside the door. "On the floor here."

_You can come in,_ she almost said. But in the end she didn't want to spoil her bath with a fight, so she waited til he was gone before opening the door and taking the pot in with her.

She felt really and truly clean when she was done, for the first time in a while. She dried with a pristine towel from the closet, and borrowed clothes from the bedroom. A big man's shirt, and man's boxers. It felt clean and comfortable, after all her jeans had been through.

"Your turn," she said on her way down the stairs. "Chuck your clothes out in the hallway and I'll see if I can wash them. They need it."

She half-expected him to argue, but he just teased "Yes Ms. Greene" and went upstairs with a pot of water.

But now she had nothing to heat more in, so she went up after him and knocked on the door. He yanked it open – shirtless. She tried not to look; he'd be mad if she did. "Give me the empty pots," she said. "I'll bring them downstairs."

When he bent to pick one off the floor she let herself peek at him, at the muscles of his shoulders and-...

Some nasty scars. She didn't gasp out loud, or flinch, but when Daryl looked up again and saw her face he scowled. "What?"

"I-, nothing."

"Listen," he started – mean. "Why don't you mind your own damn business. Why don't you-"

"Shut up, Daryl!" she snapped over him – and it surprised him enough that he actually shut up. "You think I don't _know _by now that you won't want to talk about it, and I shouldn't ask? I'm not asking. Give me that pot."

He relaxed. But he handed her the pot while looking firmly in the other direction. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Wash up, and chill out. And give me your clothes."

_That_ got him to look, all right. He gestured for her to scoot out of the bathroom, which she did with a giggle. "Is big bad Daryl Dixon _shy_?" she teased through the door.

He opened it just wide enough to shove out a heap of stinking leather and denim. "Don't think I won't come out there and whup you in a towel."

She'd kind of like to see that, actually. But she knew better than to say so. "Sure you will. Now wash up, and then I'm going to cut your hair. Whether you like it or not."

* * *

It took awhile to corral him into a chair and talk him into getting a haircut. Once he agreed, though, he sat _still. _Perfectly still.

…Except for a tiny twitch when the scissors snapped close to his eye. And a full-body shiver when she bent to blow the bits of cut hair off his neck.

* * *

A knock on the doorframe woke him. It was getting light; he must have slept for twelve hours.

"It's me. Can I come in?" She was already padding across the floor to him – in a big flannel shirt he could _swear _had had more buttons yesterday, with an inch or two of boxer sticking out the bottom.

"Why? You got your own room."

"I like yours."

Sure she did. "Why don't you get dressed first." He'd meant it to sound firm, but it came out sort of sulky and childish.

"I'm decent."

She folded one leg up on the bed and sort of sat on it. One _bare _leg, and he wasn't trying to look but… "Not hardly."

"I'm wearing the same thing you are."

"Yeah, and I ain't decent either." He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Move – I'll put pants on."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at him. "Why?"

She was being-… well, she was _trying_ to be slutty. She had no idea how.

That was a lot hotter than it ought to be. "Told you to lay off," he growled.

She climbed all the way up on the bed and sat on his calves. (He was under the covers. But still.) "No, you said you wouldn't touch _me _anymore," she reminded. "Didn't say I couldn't touch _you_."

"I'm- sayin it now-" he managed, choking because she was _crawling up him,_ slowly, on her hands and knees.

She tried to tug the covers down, but he had a death-grip on them at chest level and he was not letting go. "You're _sayin_ no, Daryl," she said, "But I don't think you mean it."

He snorted. "We got this ass-backwards," he said. "It's the _girl_ sposed to say no. Least until somebody talks her into it."

She ignored him. "So, what do I do?" She put her hand on his waist – through the blanket at least, but _still –_ and dragged it downward, and he almost bust a vein trying not to move. "I guess I rub it? Here?"

"Hey – I _said_ nuh-uh," he protested. He let go of the blanket and reached for her. Definitely meaning to chuck her off.

* * *

**TBC.**

**SORRY! Sorry, sorry, please don't kill me. I know bed is a terrible place for a cliffhanger. Next part (almost definitely the last part) will be up really soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl had grabbed on to her hips. And was _squirming_ under her. He wasn't saying no now. Actually, what he was saying was: "_Move_."

"Like…this?" she raised herself up carefully a few inches and sat back down. But that couldn't be right – she was going to _squish _him if she-

"Naw." It was hoarse. He gripped harder and she tried to follow where he was leading her – forward and back. It didn't make sense at first and she was sort of scooting along, until he shook his head again. "Not your legs – leave em. Just move your ass." He turned his face away suddenly, red, and corrected himself. "Uhm-… use your hips."

She tried not to laugh. "You can say _ass _to me, Daryl." She rolled her hips forward and back and listened to him hiss. "Like that?"

He made what appeared to be a yes-grunt, so she did it again. Kept on. Let the pull of his hands guide her, and found a rhythm – rubbing against him.

It actually felt kind of good. Not as good as him touching her the other day, obviously, but...

She was more than happy to keep going. Eventually though, he looked up at her and said: "I'm goin to Hell for this."

She _thought_ he was kidding, but just in case, she put her hand on his cheek. "Oh, stop."

"_Shit_." His hips moved under her, pressing up. Even through shorts and the blanket, she could feel what to aim for.

"I can feel your-…" She wanted to say something nasty but at the last second she chickened out.

It didn't seem to matter. Daryl mixed together some prayer words and some swear words, and arched hard.

She helped grind a little bit longer, but the force was starting to concern her. "You sure I'm not squishing it? Not hurting you?"

"_Jesus, Beth._" He turned to mouth against her hand – almost like kissing. "Nuh-uh, you're fine. Perfect."

She had to giggle. "Okay..." she said, dripping doubt. Perfect? She had no idea what she was doing. Or even what you were _supposed_ to do.

It struck her suddenly: _he _did. "Do you want to be on top?" she offered.

Then he was sitting up, lifting her off, and for a minute she thought she'd made him mad somehow.

But then she realized he was _flipping_ her, flipping her over, and she _oof_ed when she hit the mattress but it didn't actually hurt – his hand was cushioning behind her head.

She went to move but she was all tangled – the blanket was still between them. "Want me to…?" she squirmed and kicked.

"Naw. I got it," he panted as he struggled with the covers himself. "There."

He'd got her legs free at least, but the blanket was still between them – all bunched up between her hips and his. Seemed to sort of defeat the purpose in her view, but she supposed Daryl knew better after all.

Then he reached down and scooped up her thigh. It made her gasp – his hand felt big and warm on her and she didn't want him to let go, but he settled her leg up around his waist and then leaned down over her. _Now _he was making eye contact all right.

She shifted and put the other leg up too. He slid one arm underneath her shoulder, and gripped on by her neck. The other hand went to her thigh again (wonderful!).

Then he was _moving_, on her and thrusting. There was a lot of cloth between them and they weren't technically _doing _it, but it was the closest to sex she'd ever gotten and it felt pretty damn close.

She wanted to… but she wasn't sure what she was supposed to _do_. Just lie here? Say _yes _and _ooh _like porn star noises?

He let go of her leg after a bit and took one of her hands instead. He laced their fingers together and held it down to the bed.

There wasn't a _lot _of weight on it but it was enough to pin her, remind her how strong he was and she _definitely_ liked that. She pulled down on his neck with her other hand, meaning to kiss him, but at the last second he ducked aside.

"Please tell me I ain't your first kiss," he said.

She liked his voice all rough and breathless like this. "You haven't kissed me at all, Daryl," she pointed out, "But don't worry – if you did you wouldn't be the first." With his face turned, his neck was right in front of her, so she arched for it and sucked on it hard. Swirled on it with her tongue. (Show him that she knew how to do _something_!) He cursed and squeezed her hand and moved harder.

"What should I do?" she whispered in his ear. "What do you want? I mean it – tell me."

"_Shit._ Okay-," he gasped, breathy. "Move."

That wasn't _much _instruction, but it was the same thing he'd said before, so she could try that. "Like... this?" She curled her hips up against him and he seemed to like it… but she wanted to make him talk again. "Does that feel good?" She sucked at his neck again while waiting for an answer.

"Yeah. Shit- _God_ yeah, yeah it's-. God, shit."

(They were going to have to have words later: God would probably not find this very polite.)

After a bit she got the hang of timing her movements to his, and that was better. They were speeding up. In sync. She hugged him closer. She slid her hands over his back, feeling the muscles work.

When she got to the waistband of his boxers he made a _noise_. Hm.

She went in. The steady pistoning of his hips stuttered, and the rhythm was all shot to hell as he started shoving against her so hard the bed creaked.

"Yeah," he gasped. "Yeah _hard_."

Hard what? _Grab _hard? She tried that, with both hands, and then remembered that people talked about _nails _and _scratching_ too. It wouldn't surprise her at all if Daryl was someone who _liked it rough._ So, she dug in.

Almost instantly his whole body convulsed. "Yeah yeah yeah _yeah,_ fuck shit uh-huh yeah-." Et cetera. It _had _to hurt, but she didn't stop; it was apparently working for him. Like… _really_ working. He was finishing. And babbling like crazy. She didn't let herself giggle out loud.

Afterwards though, when Daryl was sprawled out flat on his back (in new boxers) playing dead, she couldn't resist teasing: "You know, you're a lot more talkative when you're… you know."

He covered his head with a pillow and muttered something into it. "What was that?" She wrestled the pillow away. "Daryl? What'd you say?"

He sighed at her and reached up to tuck a stray curl off her face. "Said I am _definitely_ goin to Hell for this."

"You are not," she protested. Then smiled. "But if you are… was it worth it?"

He laughed. Didn't say no.

* * *

The next day Daryl went out alone to kill some meat. He came back, for the first time _ever_, empty-handed.

"What's wrong?" she said.

He was bouncing around restlessly. "Grab your shit – we're goin."

She got up right away to start packing up food. "Why?"

"Found tracks. First I thought it was a walker and a kid. Kid's no walker, too coordinated, but the other one's draggin bad. But then I saw the kid's not runnin or fightin. So I'm thinkin the second one's not a walker, just a dude with a limp. I looked closer, and... the prints are kinda shitty, but ... I used to know the footprints of everybody in our group."

"And?"

"Rick. Think it coulda been Rick and Carl."

She tried to think straight. "How long ago...? Had to be after the rain-... We can catch them!"

"Specially if Rick's hurt." He started packing too. "Damn, though. Hate to leave this place."

"I thought you didn't like the houses."

He shrugged. "Guess I'm gettin used to it," he said.

"Wonder why."

He banged a cabinet closed with more force than necessary. "Hey. No more of that shit, huh? What'd I tell you?"

She had enough nerve, at least, to bite her lip and say: "You told me... to move my hips."

"Jesus!"

She refused to cower. "Come on. I'm just teasin."

"Yeah well, don't," he said – calmer, at least. "I shouldn't'a done that. I'm sorry. Rick'll have my balls if he knows I was messin with you."

She knew he was right. But it wasn't fair! "We _barely _messed at _all_!"

He shrugged. "From now on it's hands off, okay?"

What choice did she have? "Yes Mr. Dixon."

He snorted... and swatted her on her behind when she turned to flounce off.

"Hey!" _Her _turn to act indignant. "You said hands off!"

And _his _turn for a saucy shrug. "Meant once we leave the house."

Oh, really? She grinned. He said _uhoh _and backed away but not in time; she threw herself at him, giggling.

He was laughing too, trying to stop her hands from worming up under his shirt. She fought harder and harder, and finally stooped to the dirty trick of _tickling _him, at which point he yelped and turned her around to hold her from behind.

One of his arms was enough to pin both of hers to her sides. "Now you asked for it," he growled, and she giggled _shit shit shit_ until he started tickling her – _really _tickling her, at which point she started to squeal. So he covered her mouth up (muttering "You want the damn walkers in on this party?"), which at least left him a hand short for tickling.

But he bent her over the table and held her down with his own weight instead – and now she was more helpless than ever. She fought and shrieked laughter into his hand.

"You are outmatched, little lady."

Indeed she was. She still struggled though, because if she stopped he might let go of her.

"Migh's well give up," he said. "I've definitely been wrestlin since before you was born." She believed it. He was a _champion _roughhouser; he hadn't hurt her but she couldn't move an inch. "Though Merle was a hell of a lot less friendly."

She laughed – and it came out all throaty and muffled. Like a sex noise.

That distracted her, and she stopped fighting. For a minute they just lay still, catching their breath, and then he sighed against her ear. "I think we got the _hands off _thing pretty ass-backwards too."

They separated, stood up, fixed their hair and clothes. When they were presentable again she smiled at him. "No. I think we got everything just right." She came close, slow and calm, and though he looked wary he didn't try to stop her. She reached for his shoulders and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. "From now on I'll lay off – promise. But if you ever change your mind, just let me know, because I really-..." She paused a second and made sure not to say anything he'd mind. "I had a good time."

She waited. Daryl wasn't a big talker but surely he would say _something _to that?

It was silent for a while. He was looking square in her eyes. Finally he said: "Kay." And put his hand behind her neck, leaned down and dropped a quick dry kiss on her lips.

* * *

**The End.**

**Thanks for reading, guys. Let me know what you thought!**


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